


And Miles To Go Before I Sleep

by shewhoguards



Category: The Chronicles of Chrestomanci - Diana Wynne Jones
Genre: Found Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-09 01:10:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5519888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shewhoguards/pseuds/shewhoguards
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you're a nine-lifed enchanter, bad dreams carry more risks than you might think.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Miles To Go Before I Sleep

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whisperbird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whisperbird/gifts).



At 3am Cat burst into flame, and there was no-one there to help put it out. There was just him, and the fire, and the dreadful smell of burning as his skin scorched and crisped.

He screamed and went on screaming once the fire went away, because after the burning came the drowning. Water soaked him, pouring into his open mouth, making him splutter and choke. All around him, he knew, were people floating in the water – some of whom he loved dearly, but none of whom he would ever be allowed to see again. He looked for Gwendolyn, knowing that if he could only locate her he could throw his arms around her neck and be saved, but she was nowhere to be seen. He remembered, with a wrench, that she had left him and was unlikely to care enough to find him now.

There was a name, he knew there was. If he could only shout it there would be rescue and safety, but every time he opened his mouth it filled with water again.

“Chres--!” He choked and gagged. “Chresto--!”

And then the world filled with light, which usually signified the end of a nightmare, but Cat continued drowning so he went on screaming and thrashing too.

“Bad dream,” said a female voice he vaguely recognised. “Poor thing.”

“Poor thing be damned,” returned a deeper voice. “If he goes on like this he’ll be short another life. Up you come, Cat.” And strong arms lifted him from the bed as though he weighed nothing at all. He was settled, face-down, across someone’s lap and his back was patted firmly as though he were a baby needing to be burped.

Cat coughed, spluttered and spat water until the burning feeling in his lungs faded and he lay limply where he was put, trying to breathe and wondering why the carpet was so wet. And, for that matter, why he himself was so wet.

“Excuse me,” he managed to gather enough air to ask. “Why is it raining?”

“So you are awake now.” The back-patting stopped and he was lifted again, this time to be settled the right way up, sitting on Chrestomanci’s knee. This might have been more awkward – after all, Cat hadn’t had anyone to scoop him into their lap since his own father had died and he really was far too old for such treatment now – if Chrestomanci hadn’t been looking so serious. And also, Cat realised, very wet.

It really did appear to be raining indoors – and not just raining, but pouring, the sort of water that falls in sheets and can soak you to the skin within minutes. Somewhat startled, Cat looked up towards the ceiling but could see no likely cause. The water just appeared.

“Your doing, I suspect.” Cat winced, deciding that the grim tone meant that he was in trouble again. “I believe we would all be much obliged if you could turn it off now before it starts coming through the next floor.”

Guiltily, Cat turned his face up to the spot the water seemed to be materialising from. “Could you stop, er, watering now, please?” he suggested, feeling more than a little foolish, and was immensely relieved when the waterfall abruptly vanished.

And with that done, he could look at Chrestomanci and see that the man looked more tired than angry. What had been a rather nice burgundy dressing gown was so soaked as to be clinging to his skin, and the pair of them were sitting in a chair which seemed to be marooned in a veritable lake of water. Cat turned surprised eyes to Millie, for she, of course, was the other person who had hurried in. He discovered that she too was clad in pyjamas and dressing gown. It seemed he had managed to make enough fuss to rouse the pair of them from their sleep.

“Um. Sorry,” he offered, and blushed, still not entirely sure what he had been doing.

“Not to worry, dear,” Millie said nicely, though she did seem to be eying him with some concern. “You’re far from the first to have that problem.”

“You started the water, I would imagine, to put out a fire you were dreaming about,” Chrestomanci said somewhat wearily, answering the unasked question. “Unfortunately, while the fire wasn’t real and so was no danger to you, the water most definitely was.”

“I thought we had put wards—“ Millie said, looking worried.

“We did. We have. But it seems when Cat’s brain really wants to do something, they are of no use whatsoever,” Chrestomanci said, and shivered. The Castle was warm enough, but the water had been close to freezing and Cat found that he was shivering too, suddenly past chilled as the shock started to wear off.

“Hot baths,” Millie said briskly, clearly glad of a problem that she could actually solve easily. “Hot baths, hot drinks, and dry clothes for the pair of you I think. And, Cat, I’ll try to find somewhere for you to sleep tonight that doesn’t actually resemble a swimming pool.”

It should have been a welcome thought, but Cat found himself shivering harder at the thought. He was too close still to the dream-state, the memory of fighting to keep his head above water and failing too vivid to welcome the idea of still more water. “No baths,” he said quickly, fighting back panic at the thought. “Please? I’ll be fine.” A sneeze put the lie to that.

The two adults glanced at each other, a silent message passing between them for a moment before Chrestomani sighed. “No matter,” he conceded, and a faint line of concentration appeared between his eyes for a moment. A gentle steam started to rise from the pair of them – and, Cat noticed, the bed – and he discovered he was no longer shivering as the chill started to fade.

Chrestomanci sighed and leaned back in the chair as though the effort had tired him, although one careful arm ensured Cat remained too anchored for there to be any possibility of him falling off. “Hot drinks,” he announced, as though ticking off a list, and a moment later there was a mug in his free hand and another one hovering in front of Cat. Cat took it, sniffed it cautiously, and found it pleasantly lemony.

“Hot cocoa is more usual,” Millie said mildly, and Cat hastily took a sip before it could be substituted.

“This is good,” he said quickly, not wanting to be forced into the situation of having to be rude and turn cocoa down when she was clearly being nice to him.

“This is fine,” Chrestomanci agreed, and Cat, looking at his expression, suddenly realised that he felt much the same way about cocoa. For a moment the pair shared a look of silent understanding about the vileness of over-sweet milky drinks.

Millie scrutinised them, then gave a slight shrug and came to sit on the edge of the bed – the part which _wasn’t_ currently steaming and appeared to be still dry. “ _Just_ a dream?” she asked. For some reason, that was addressed to Chrestomanci rather than Cat and seemed to carry implications that Cat didn’t quite understand.

Chrestomanci scrutinised him, and Cat blinked back anxiously, unsure what he was looking for. More than anything it reminded him of being small and having the doctor called out to check whether the awful cramps in his stomach were due to his appendix bursting. But he didn’t feel ill now, although he did half-expect Chrestomanci to tell him to stick out his tongue to check for odd spots.

“Three lives left,” Chrestomanci said after a moment, with such heart-felt relief in his tone that Cat started to wonder if perhaps he really _was_ ill. “No wandering, just an ordinary bad dream, or as ordinary as they come for us.” He took a long gulp of his tea. “You gave us a scare, Cat.” And that wasn’t his usual cold and reproving tone, not the one he used when he thought Cat had done something stupid and dangerous, but something much gentler.

“Poor dear,” Millie said, and she sounded more sympathetic than surprised. It was as though people waking up in a flood were a usual event around here. Then again, in Chrestomanci Castle, all kinds of things were usual. “I’d bet he scared himself more than anyone.”

“Bound to happen once he actually had his own magic back to use,” Chrestomanci said. “Should have considered it – or, rather, I thought I had taken care of it with those wards.” He met Cat’s questioning look and shrugged calmly. “You’re not going to lose seven lives without bad dreams sometimes. Or even six and one near-miss.”

The idea of cool, competent Chrestomanci suffering from bad dreams was enough to make Cat stare. Bad dreams were such a—a little boy thing to struggle with, and Chrestomanci was the man who had walked calmly away from people tying them down and threatening to kill them as though very little had happened.

“He knocked a wall down,” Millie confided, while Cat was still digesting that. “Something to do with an attacking dragon.”

“It was a long time ago.” Chrestomanci sounded unexpectedly sheepish.

“And there have been a few issues with fireballs and shields. Shields _sound_ fine and then you realise no-one can get within a foot of him to wake him up.” Millie’s tone was both cheerful and matter-of-fact, and Cat found himself smiling back at her hesitantly. Somehow it turned tonight from a frightening and out-of-control event into just one more thing the Castle would work out a way to deal with.

Chrestomanci cleared his throat as though hoping for a change in topic. “Unfortunately, I doubt silver threads in the pillows are likely to do much to protect you, Cat. I’m not sure there _is_ anything we could do to disable your left hand that would make a difference.”

“Sleep spells?” Millie suggested. “At least as a temporary solution?”

“I’m not sure whether that would help or make the situation worse. I don’t like the idea of not being able to wake him to stop him bringing disaster down on himself.” Thanks to the steaming spells Cat was warm and mostly dry, and Chrestomanci’s voice was a soothing rumble – more noise than words as Cat started to lose the fight to keep his eyes open.

“The shield problem all over again,” Millie agreed, and clicked her tongue as she glanced at Cat. “Sleep, Cat. Nothing can harm you here tonight with us here, not even your own powers.”

Chrestomanci’s voice was rumbling again, something about Cat learning to set wards for himself, but Cat was beyond listening. As he started to sag he was lifted again and set back on his bed, and kind hands tucked a blanket around him. Warm, comfortable, and drowsy beyond measure, it turned out that he didn’t need sleep spells in order to slip back into slumber. He only needed what he finally had: people who cared enough to be family and ensure he woke safely when morning came.


End file.
